


Silent Hill: Lost Souls

by Davetek463



Category: Silent Hill (2006), Silent Hill (Video Game Series), Silent Hill: Revelation 3D (2012)
Genre: Gen, Inspired by Silent Hill 2, Silent Hill: Downpour, Unofficial Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davetek463/pseuds/Davetek463
Summary: A sequel to the 2012 film Silent Hill: Revelation that adapts Silent Hill 2 and Silent Hill: Downpour. As Christopher Da Silva searches for his missing wife in Silent Hill, he meets Murphy Pendleton, who finds himself in the town after his prisoner transport bus crashes.





	1. ROADS TO NOWHERE

**Author's Note:**

> What you are about to read is a sequel to the 2012 film Silent Hill: Revelation as well as an adaptation of the game Silent Hill: Downpour, released the same year. The end of Revelation hinted that the plots of Silent Hill 2 and Downpour would be combined. As this story will take place in the AU established by the 2006 Silent Hill film, liberties with the plots and stories of both games will be taken.

It had been seven years since Christopher’s wife had taken their adopted daughter to Silent Hill to try and find the reason for her sleepwalking and nightmares. Although Rose’s car had been found abandoned on the road (along with a motorcycle from the nearby Brahams police department), neither her or their daughter were anywhere to be found.

A few weeks later, Rose had appeared behind Christopher in a mirror in their home.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” she said. She looked exhausted. Her eyes were wide and had dark bags under them, while her normally loose hair had been slicked back with sweat. Sweat and dirt covered her face.

“I’m trapped here. There’s nothing you can do for me. Protect her. She’s the one who matters now.”

“Why can’t you come back?” Christopher asked. He was confused, happy, scared. She walked up to him and draped her arms over his shoulders.

“I found a seal. Part of it is missing. Only one of us could come through,” she continued. Christopher could feel the weight of her arms, but when he touched her hand, there was nothing there. Not really.

“I made a choice.”

“Where’s our daughter?”

“They’ll come looking for her. They’ll come looking because they need her. Never let them take her. No matter what happens. No matter what you have to do, swear to me you will never let them take her.”

“I swear.”

“I brought her back to you,” she said as she pulled away. “She’s yours to care for now.”

“Don’t go!” Christopher pleaded.

“Goodbye, my love.” And she was gone.

He called her name and was answered by a small voice behind him. “Daddy?”

When he turned around, laying on a decorative couch behind him was his and Rose’s - though he supposed now just his - daughter Sharon.

“Oh my God, Sharon,” he said as he sat down and embraced her. She too looked exhausted, her hair and face in a similar to state to what Rose’s had been. “You’re safe now,” he said and kissed her on the forehead.

“What happened? I don’t remember anything.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You were in an accident.”

“Where’s Mommy?”

“Mommy saved you,” he said. When she repeated the question, all he could say was, “She’s gone.”

They spent the next seven years on the run using a series of assumed names. During that time, Christopher had uncovered bits and pieces of the truth behind Silent Hill and the religious Order that had secretly run the town and had been behind the fire that had shut the town off completely thirty years prior.

Eventually the Order had caught up to them and brought Christopher to Silent Hill to lure Sharon there. She arrived, and with the help of one of the creatures that Alessa, the girl who had been burned by the Order that Sharon was a part of, defeated the leader of the Order and slaughtered many of their followers.

Now the two of them, plus the son of the Order’s now-late leader, were walking through the middle of town.

The ash that had been steadily snowing on the town came to a gradual stop. As Sharon and Vincent walked hand-in-hand ( _When did this happen, exactly?_ he wondered) Christopher slowly came to a stop.

“This is still a place of lost souls,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Sharon said. Her and Vincent had stopped and were looking back at him.

With effort, he said, “I can’t leave. I’m going to stay and find your mother.”

“Let me, let us,” Sharon said, gesturing to Vincent, “help you.”

“When she brought you back all those years ago, I promised that once you were safe, I would come back and look for her. Now that you’re safe, I’m going to keep my promise.”

He hugged her the way he had seven years ago when she had first returned to him. “Vincent,” he said when they had parted, “you look after my little girl.”

“I don’t think she needs me for that,” Vincent said.

The three laughed, and with one more look back, Sharon and Vincent continued out of town.

The fog swelled up and closed around Christopher.

_I’m committed now,_ he thought as the ash began to fall around him again.

 

* * *

 

If there was one thing that prison had given Murphy time to do, it was think. Today the topic of thought was his future, or lack thereof. Initially, he had only been sentenced to do three years, and he had been on his way to an early parole release until an alleged incident with a guard had upped his sentence to twenty years and a transfer to a maximum security facility.

Had it been worth it? Only time would tell, but he was beginning to think it wasn’t.

He kicked at the thin layer of water that had pooled on his cell floor. That was something that he wouldn’t miss, a non-existent comfort if ever there was one.

“Today’s the day,” said a voice. Murphy looked up from the floor and saw George Sewell, one of the prison guards, standing at his cell door.

“Yes it is,” Murphy said.

“Truth be told, we’re all going to miss you,” Sewell said. He was a thin man with a thin face that reminded Murphy of a weasel while his voice had a permanent tone of condescension to it. “You know the drill.”

Murphy held his hands through an opening in the bars while Sewell handcuffed him. When he was done, he called out, “Prisoner secure! Open cell 302 for transfer!” There was a loud buzz and the lock clicked. Sewell pulled it open and Murphy stepped out.

“After you,” Sewell said. As they walked, several other inmates called out to Murphy: “I’ll see you on the outside,” “I won’t forget that you owe me,” and so on. He ignored all of them. Most were full of shit and he knew that he would probably still be locked up when they got out. He also hadn’t made the mistake of putting himself into debt to anyone on the inside. Well, mostly hadn’t made the mistake. There was one debt, but it was already paid off and was the reason he was in the situation he was now.

The sky was overcast as Murphy and several other inmates were ferried onto a light blue school bus that had been converted for prisoner transport. At the door of the bus stood a woman with dark sunglasses and her hair pulled back tightly behind her head. A silver badge on her chest read CUNNINGHAM. Though he couldn’t see her eyes, her mouth was set in such a way that Murphy knew she was squinting at him.

“Pendleton, right?” she said as he walked by. The two stared at each other for a moment before Murphy nodded. “Get on,” she said and Murphy obliged.

“He’s all yours, sugar,” Sewell said. He smirked, but Cunningham said nothing as she followed Murphy onto the bus.

“Settle in, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us,” the bus driver said as he took off, two police cruisers providing escort.

At some point during the trip, Murphy fell asleep.

He dreamed of the late night when Sewell had come to his cell.

“Come on, cupcake. I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said and opened Murphy’s cell. He stepped out into the hall, and Sewell lead him down the hallway to the elevator and rode down in silence. When they reached the bottom, they walked a bit more until Sewell stopped outside of the shower room.

“I left your surprises inside,” Sewell said. “Don’t take too long.”

Murphy nodded and began to push open the door when Sewell said, “By the way. There’s cameras in there, but when the water’s running, they steam up and you can’t see shit. Just FYI.”

“Thanks,” Murphy said.

The shower room was long and wide. The walls were unadorned concrete while the floor was white tiles with a number of drains on the floor. There were showerheads up either wall with no dividers between. Quickly yet calmly, Murphy turned on all the showers and, as Sewell had said, the room steamed up. 

On a bench near the door that Murphy had come through was a large butcher’s knife and a length of steel pipe.

_How generous,_ he thought. Picking up both, he went to the middle of the room.

He didn’t have to wait long for the doors opposite those he came in through to open. A lone man entered: he was fat with blond hair and was naked save for the white towel wrapped around his waist. The man froze when he saw Murphy. “You’re not supposed to be in here.” 

Murphy said nothing and slowly began to approach the man. “Wait, no. Stop. I’m a sequestered prisoner. There’s not supposed to be anyone here. Guard!” the man said. 

“No one’s coming,” Murphy said and struck the man with the pipe. He struck again and again before tossing the pipe aside. The man was bleeding and bruises were beginning to appear where he had been struck. Murphy brandished the knife over the man. 

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” the man sobbed. 

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Murphy said. The man looked Murphy up and down as best he could and shook his head.

“We used to be neighbors,” he said as he drove the knife downward into the main’s large gut. The man finally recognized him. 

“No, please don’t. I’m sorry!” 

“It’s too late for that,” Murphy said.

When he brought the knife down again, Murphy awoke. Freezing rain was now pelting down on the roof and windows of the bus. He kept his forehead on the window and stared out the window at the passing landscape, or what little there was. The most notable thing was a green sign that said “WELCOME TO SILENT HILL.” 

“Hey, _muchacho,_ ” said a voice behind him. “I know who you are. Is it true? What they say you did?” 

“Shut up,” Cunningham said and banged her nightstick on the mesh partition between her, the bus driver, and the rest of the passengers.

“Hey, fuck you,” the man said. 

“Shut up,” she repeated.

Suddenly Murphy lurched forward as the driver slammed on the brakes. The bus side swiped the guardrail then, inexplicably, began to roll. As they rolled, Murphy and the rest of the passengers were tossed around as if they were in a clothes dryer. When they came to a sudden stop, another prisoner crashed into Murphy and he lost consciousness.


	2. THE POSTMASTER

If the bathroom in Neely’s Bar wasn’t the dirtiest in the world, it was a close second. It wasn’t really a fair assessment when Christopher thought about it: the town had been abandoned for the better part of forty years and he wasn’t “in” Silent Hill. 

Not exactly, anyway.

To his surprise, when he turned the tap on one of the sinks, it sputtered out some cold water. He pursed his lips and splashed his face several times. After he shut the water off, he wiped his hands down his face and focused on himself in the dirty mirror: there were more wrinkles than he remembered and two or three days worth of stubble had grown in. His hair was greying as well. Sharon had mentioned that recently, and he himself had been noting the changes as well. 

But now he barely recognized himself. It was true that he had been kidnapped and spent several days tied to a statue in a hot space under an amusement park, but his haggard appearance was a result of more than just that. The stress of constantly having to be looking over his shoulder for seven years had certainly done a number. The semi-transient lifestyle that he and Sharon had been living had relieved some of the regular stresses of raising a teenage girl, but it had still been hard. All things considered, they had gotten along very well over the years. There had never been any big blowouts or runaways. All the same, he sometimes felt that Sharon resented him. Or if not him, the life they were living: they had virtually no friends and no contact with any family. Romantic pursuits had been non-existent either. Christopher wasn’t interested - he still wore his wedding band and never put himself in situations where he might be questioned. Sharon, on the other hand, had wanted to date several times. Even just go out to the movies with a boy or a couple acquaintances from school. He had decided to let her a few times and had worried the entire time she was gone. The moves after those times had been especially tough and eventually she stopped showing interest in socializing. At the end of the day, they had each other, and that was what was important.

He would have been lying if he said that he hadn’t missed Rose over the years. She was often the last person he thought of as he fell asleep and the first person he thought of when he woke up. Like all couples, they had had their ups and downs (more ups) and at the end of the day, Christopher knew that Rose would do for him what he was doing for her now.

There was one problem though: he didn’t know where to begin looking. West Virginia didn’t have a huge tourist industry, and even before the town had been abandoned, Silent Hill wasn’t really what one would call a “destination” town. While it did have a history of witch burning, it was far less known than Salem. If it was known for anything, it was coal mining and the mines beneath the town had caught fire when the attempted burning of Alessa Gillespie had triggered the great fire that had shut down the town and created the world he was in now. 

There was  _ maybe  _ one person who would know or at least have an idea where Rose might be: back in the amusement park sanctuary, Claudia had mentioned a woman named Dahlia several times. He had gathered that she was Alessa’s mother and was somewhere in the town. Claudia had wanted to bring her to the sanctuary and kill her, but had been unable to find her. She had punished some of the men (“Brethren,” he thought she had said) pretty severely for their failure.

He walked out of the bathroom, through the dilapidated interior of Neely’s, and out onto the main street. It was, in a weird way, peaceful. Even when he and Rose had lived in a quiet suburb there had been noise: cars passing, police and fire sirens, kids outside playing, neighbors having noisy arguments or sex or both at all hours. And now, save for the sound of ash gently falling to the ground, there was total silence. 

The air was far from refreshing, he took a deep breath and began walking toward the center of town. The way some people told it, it had seemed like the town was abandoned as soon as the fire started in the coal mine. In reality, it had taken a few days for things to get so bad and there hadn’t been an instant evacuation. Instead of the chaotic scene that one would expect, it looked as though everyone in the town just disappeared. There were a few abandoned cars that had rusted out, but otherwise the streets were clear. Buildings had fallen into disrepair and the street itself had been in better shape (which wasn’t saying much) even when Christopher and Officer Gucci had visited the town seven years prior. 

The only thing that was noticeably different was the smell. While the air was still stale, there wasn’t the smell of burning coal and asphalt that had permeated the air last time. After hours of wandering around without protection from the gases that Gucci had said were in the air, Christopher felt decidedly fine (all things considered), unlike his previous visit where he had begun to feel light-headed.

On a hill in almost exactly the center of town was a large church. The sign which would have had the name and denomination was long gone. In the large yard around the church was a cemetery. It was obvious even from a distance that no one had been buried there well before the fire started - most of the stones were weathered beyond recognition. 

Having to start somewhere, he decided to take a look inside. As he walked up the many stairs leading to the front doors, he noticed increasing amounts of blood on the ground. When he reached the large front doors, they were caked with more long-dried blood. 

_ Something bad happened here,  _ he thought. 

The sentiment increased dramatically when he opened the doors and stepped inside. The entire interior had been completely destroyed: there were marks on the walls, wooden pews were everywhere, and everything was covered in dried blood. What remained of a large mural stood at the very front of the sanctuary. Christopher didn’t know enough Latin to be able to decipher the phrase painted above the remains, but from what he could tell of what the mural depicted ( _ a witch burning, most likely _ ) it had something to do with the wrath of God. 

A wide and deep pit had been opened up in front of the mural. When he peered down, there wasn’t much more than darkness to see. He contemplated finding a piece of debris to toss down and see how deep it went before deciding that it didn’t matter - he wasn’t going to venture down any dark pits.

Christopher went towards the doors again and went up a stairway to the balcony. There was yet more damage - what few pews there were had been thrown about and the pipe organ had been destroyed as well. From there, he was also better able to fully appreciate the destruction downstairs. Whatever had happened there had been a total massacre. 

It didn’t feel as though there was anything lurking nearby, but he decided not to hang around and find out. When he was back outside, he spotted a man in a blue coat walking on the sidewalk.

“Hey!” Christopher called and ran down the stairs. The man stopped and regarded Christopher as he approached.

“Well, you’re new around here,” he said. “The name’s Blackwood. Howard Blackwood.”

It was hard to tell just how old Howard was - he either looked old for his age or young for it. His dark skin was quite smooth with a few wrinkles around his eyes and his lips, which were also surrounded by a grey goatee. He was also carrying a large leather satchel, and based on the marking on the bag and his coat, he was a mail carrier.

Christopher introduced himself. “I, uh, didn’t know they still got mail here.”

“Oh yes. I’ve been postmaster here in Silent Hill for close to sixty years.”

“Really?”

“Yes sir. Things have changed a lot over the years. There’s not many people here any more. The folks who lived there,” he said and pointed to the church, “have been gone nearly eight years. Good riddance, if you ask me.”

“What happened to them?” 

“To be honest with you, I don’t know. I didn’t see what happened. Just one day they were there, and then the next they were gone. The Darkness even stopped for a while.”

The Darkness, a shift in the world that brought out terrible monsters, had been mentioned by Claudia more than a few times while Christopher was her hostage. He knew that Alessa had brought it on in her attempts to punish the Order that had burned her.

_ Whatever happened in that church must have satisfied her. For a while. _

“Maybe you can help me,” Christopher said. 

“What do you need? I’ll do my best.”

“Great. I’m looking for someone. Well, two people. But the second one might help me find the first.” 

“Tell me about the first person you’re looking for.”

Christopher gave Howard as detailed a description of Rose as he could. “You know, I think I have seen someone like that,” Howard said. “Try over in Rosewater Park. Follow Wiltse Road there until you get all the way to the end and you’re there.”

“Really? That’s it?”

“Well, it might not be quite that easy. The roads around here get blocked up sometimes. But as long as you have a decent sense of direction, you’ll find it just fine.”

When Christopher thanked him, Howard asked who the second person was that he was looking for.

“All I have is a name. I don’t even know if she’s still here.” He had been going to say “alive,” but he wasn’t even sure if it really counted as being alive. If Howard had been carrying mail for close to sixty years, he was way older than he looked.

“Dahlia Gillespie. Sound familiar?”

“Ah, her. I know her. Never seen her in the same place twice, and I haven’t seen her lately. But if she’s still around, you’ll find her. Or she’ll find you. But don’t worry,” he said when Christopher started. “She’s perfectly harmless. Poor woman has been through a lot.”

“I’ve heard.” Besides Alessa, Dahlia was one of the few who were as blameless as was possible. At least that’s the way Christopher saw it based on what he had read and what he gleaned from Claudia.

“Well, if there’s nothing else, this mail isn’t going to deliver itself.”

“Right, of course,” Christopher said and shook Howard’s hand. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I’m sure our paths will cross again. One thing, though.”

“Sure.”

“Be careful. Things are not always what they appear to be here.”


	3. CLIMBING

When Murphy came to and didn’t feel much pain, two possibilities entered his mind. The first was that his body had been so badly broken that there was nothing intact enough to feel pain and that he would die as soon as he tried to move. The second was that he was relatively unharmed. 

He slowly sat up and realized that it was the latter. 

_ That’s lucky,  _ he thought.

Between getting tossed around in the bus and one of the other prisoners slamming into him, he knew that he should be dead. Murphy hadn’t had a lot of serious injuries when he was younger and often joked with his friends that he was “overdue” for something or that he would just be incredibly difficult to injure and/or kill. Again, it seemed to be the latter.

He wasn’t the only survivor and possibly not the only survivor who was relatively unharmed: as he looked around at the broken limbs and bloodied bodies that belonged to most of the prisoners, there was at least one missing: the one who had called him  _ muchacho  _ and really pissed off Cunningham by the simple virtue of existing. She too was missing. And despite being the only one on the bus to have a seat belt, the driver lay dead in his seat.

The bus had settled on its left side. Despite some modifications to better secure passengers, the bus still had emergency exits and Murphy was able to open one of the roof hatches with little problem despite still being handcuffed. 

The first thing he noticed was that the rain had become snow. He also noticed fairly quickly that when it touched his skin, it wasn’t cold. He brushed a few flakes out of his hair and, when it came away dirty, that it wasn’t snow at all. Murphy remembered the WELCOME TO SILENT HILL sign that the bus had passed not long before the crash. Though he was born a year after the fire, Murphy knew the story. He didn’t realize that the fire caused a snow of ash, or that it would warm the surrounding area.

Something on the ground nearby caught Murphy’s eye. When he approached, he saw that it was a ring with several small keys on it.

_ Handcuff keys. _

He tried several of them before he found the right one. After removing the cuffs, he tossed them and the keys aside. 

As he looked around the clearing, Murphy wondered what had happened to their police escort. The lead car was nowhere to be seen, and (assuming the car that had been following them had had time to stop) there were no flashing lights or the sound of helicopter rotors. 

_ Maybe we haven’t been down long enough. Or a crashed transfer bus with inmates headed for maximum security isn’t a priority. _

“Hello?” Murphy called. When there was no answer, he called again and was answered by silence.

The embankment that the bus had rolled down was steep but passable, so Murphy began to climb. It was further than he thought it would be and he eventually entered a layer of heavy fog. On reaching the top, he pulled himself over the guardrail and lay down on the road, looking to the sky. The ash fell gently on his face, and though he lay there for some time, there wasn’t all that much to brush off when he got back to his feet.

“Hold it right there.”

Cunningham was climbing up the slope near where Murphy had come up. Her gun was in her hand and was pointing at him.

“Take it easy.” Murphy held up his hands. “I’m just looking for help.”

“And you just happened to lose your cuffs in the process?” She was almost up to ground level, but was having trouble climbing with only one hand.

“I found the keys down by the bus and took them off. Here, let me help you.” He approached her with his hand stretched out but she waved her gun and he stepped back.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she said then slipped. Before she could fall back down the slope, Murphy lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. He threw himself backward to pull her over toward him and over the rail. 

As Murphy helped Cunningham back to her feet, she aimed her gun at him again.

“Don’t you fucking touch me, I said.”

“Hey, easy. Calm down. You don’t need to do that. I’m only trying to help.”

“I don’t want, or need, your help, you piece of shit. Get on your knees. Now.”

From the one of her voice, Murphy knew that it was better to just do as she said. As he knelt down, she approached him and held the gun to his temple.

“I should just kill you now.”

“I don’t know who you think I am, or what you think I did--”

“Shut the fuck up, or so help me I will put a fucking bullet right in your fucking brain. You don’t deserve to live while good men...” her voice faltered and she trailed off. When she did, Murphy softened his gaze and lowered his head a little. 

“Do it. Just do it.”

Cunningham tightened her grip on her gun. A sob escaped her and she backed off.

“I can’t. I...I’m sorry.” She took a few more steps back and sat down, her back against the guardrail. Tears leaked from her eyes. Murphy slowly got to his feet. He could either walk away (it didn’t seem like she would try and stop him or shoot him in the back), stay put, or approach her to try and comfort her. 

“Go. Leave me alone,” she said when Murphy took a step forward. “Get the hell out of here.”

Wordlessly, Murphy obliged her. Cunningham’s sobs slowly faded the further away he got.

_ What was that all about?  _ He had never seen Cunningham before getting on the bus that day, nor had he known anyone with a name that was even close. When he stole the police cruiser and led authorities on a ten hour chase, he hadn’t hurt anyone. He hadn’t even put a scratch on the car. Besides Napier, he hadn’t so much as shaken a hand or given a fist bump to anyone and he doubted anyone gave so much of a shit about Napier that someone would want to kill him over what had happened. Even during the recent prison riot, Murphy had done nothing but keep his head down. 

After a time, he wandered into a residential neighborhood. The fog and the decrepit houses reminded him of a movie he had watched about a man and a boy trying to survive after the world had ended. He wondered why nothing had been demolished after the town having been abandoned for so many years. It was supposedly dangerous because of the fumes from the fire, but isn’t that what gas masks and respirators were for?

A house on the right caught his eye. There was nothing especially notable about it except for the short fence and a dog house in the yard. It looked like it had been painted pale yellow once upon a time, but the years had faded and peeled much of it away. It was two stories high and most of the windows were apparently intact.

He walked up the walkway to the front porch. There was no furniture or remnants of anything that may have been there previously except for an almost completely worn away welcome mat. Murphy raised his hand to knock, but lowered it.

_ No one has lived here in years. _

He put his hand on the doorknob and turned it. To his surprise, it opened easily. The door made a hell of a racket when he pushed it and entered the house. The interior was just as sad looking as the exterior: the wall paper looked like it had had a maroon and gold striped pattern at some point, but it had mostly peeled away and revealed a plain white (now dirty and probably water stained) wall behind it. 

The kitchen, living room, and dining room were equally as devoid of furnishings and photos and equally as run down. Returning to the entrance hall, Murphy carefully mounted the stairs. They creaked as he climbed and he was worried they might give way. Exhaling a sigh of relief when he reached the top, he went to the first open door he saw. 

As with every other room in the house, the bedroom was bare but Murphy felt that it had once belonged to a young boy. Where the rest of the house had been wallpapered, the walls had been painted with depictions of classic (which would have been new at the time) muscle cars. They filled him with a feeling of happiness that he hadn’t felt in years.

Before he could get too misty eyed, there was a creak downstairs. Murphy snapped his head to the bedroom door.

_ There’s someone else here. _

He crept back to the landing and looked down. Not seeing anyone, he called down, “Who’s down there?”

A few moments later a young woman appeared at the bottom of the stairs. When she saw Murphy - or more likely his jumpsuit - she gasped and took a step back.

“W-what are you doing here?” she said. Her arms were hugged tightly across her chest.

“I was in a bus crash,” he said and took a step down. When the woman took a startled step backward, Murphy retreated to the top of the landing.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just looking for help.”

“What did you do?”

“I stole a car. Well, a police cruiser.”  _ And killed a man in the shower,  _ he thought but didn’t say. When he took a step down again, the woman held her ground. “What are you doing here?”

She seemed to think for a moment before saying, “I, uh, used to have family that lived here. Long time ago, before I was born.”

“Didn’t they move the official records to, Brahams, I think, after the town was evacuated?”

“Yeah, but you can only learn so much from old papers.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to come here?”

“I guess, but I’m not afraid.” Her body language said otherwise, but Murphy kept that to himself. “Are you afraid?”

“Afraid of what?” he said. 

“That they won’t believe you when you say you were just looking for help and not trying to run away.”

“I guess so.” Murphy had reached the bottom of the stairs and the young woman hadn’t backed up any more. “But one of the officers who survived the crash told me to go look for help, so I think she’ll vouch for me when the time comes.” He didn’t know if Cunningham would really vouch for him when (or  _ if _ ) the time came. But her telling him to “go” and “get the hell out of here” and “leave me alone” would likely count for something.

He hoped.

“That’s good,” the young woman said. “I’m Angela, by the way.”

“Murphy.”

“You know this town is abandoned, and you were better off going anywhere else for help. So why are you here?”

She was right and he didn’t have an answer. “Just lucky, I guess.”

“Not really. My cell phone doesn’t work out here.”

Murphy still kept his distance, but Angela seemed to relax a bit. He didn’t blame her for being nervous - it wasn’t very often one ran into a convict in an abandoned town. Yet there was more to her discomfort than that. He had a feeling that she would have been just as uncomfortable had he been in plain clothes. 

He took a step forward and she jumped back again. “No, stay back!” she said. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“No, no, it’s okay. It’s not you. I...uh...I should be going.”

He thought about trying to stop her, maybe suggesting that they stick together. But he knew that suggestion would not go over well. She probably wouldn’t say it outright, but she wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe to do with anyone. Why come to a ghost town alone?

“Okay,” he said and forced a smile. “Just be careful, okay?”

The smile she returned seemed genuine enough.

“You too.”


	4. ROADBLOCKS AND MONSTERS

Not long after he parted company with Howard, Christopher understood what he had meant when he said that the roads occasionally get blocked up. A large metal scaffold about twelve feet high had been set up across the entire width of the street with plywood and plastic sheeting filling serving as a wall. There wasn’t even enough room on either end for Christopher to squeeze past, nor was there any sort of door he could try and force his way through.

_Maybe this is the town’s way of saying that it doesn’t want me to get to the park. Or there’s some other way that I’m supposed to go._

He hadn’t gone too far from the center of town yet so the sides of the streets were still lined with shops. Most were boarded up, and the ones that weren’t had grates of some sort so that even breaking a window wouldn’t do him much good. He had known that finding Rose wouldn’t be easy, but he didn’t think that he would get shut down so quickly.

After a small bit of backtracking, he found an alley that went in the general direction he needed to be heading in. Besides the usual trash that one could expect to find in an alley, it looked empty.

_“Be careful. Things are not always what they appear to be here,”_ said Howard’s voice in his head.

Even if the Order’s power was gone, even if Alessa’s soul was finally at peace, there was no denying that there was still power at work. The ash snow was indication enough and Howard Blackwood sealed the deal.

But he had no choice but to continue forward, so he inched his way into the alley. Christopher wasn’t a huge man by anyone’s definition, but the alley was still a bit snug. He turned himself sideways as best he could and side-stepped. Bits of gravel and broken glass crunched under his feet. The alley turned a bit, but he was still going the right way.

More or less.

He emerged onto an unnamed street. It was fairly short and looked like it connected back to Wiltse Road. He couldn’t tell for sure though - it was blocked off the same way that it had been before he found the alley.

“Come on,” he mumbled to himself.

Not too far away was a strip of buildings that appeared to be under renovation, or were at the time of the fire. Cutting through seemed to be the quickest way for him to get back on track.

_Maybe the only way,_ he thought as he considered the possibility that there would be other obstacles that would force him back to where he stood.

There was caution tape and orange plastic fencing mesh covering the doors and windows, but he was able to push it aside and slip in easily enough. There wasn’t a lot of light filtering in from outside. Christopher rummaged around through the tools and toolboxes laying around and found a heavy flashlight. Much to his surprise, the light switched on when he hit the power button. The beam was pretty strong, too.

Whatever work had been going on when the project had been abandoned hadn’t gotten very far. It was clear that the interior had been gutted pretty thoroughly and not much had been done in the way of actual construction. It made for slow going. If he tripped into something or knocked something over and hurt himself, there would be no one to help.

A clattering off to the right drew Christopher’s attention. He froze in place and listened and a few seconds later heard the sound again. The second clatter was accompanied by a sort of wet slurping sound.

He shined the light in the general direction of the sound but saw nothing. When he heard wet slurping sound again, it wasn’t getting any closer. He had a strong feeling that whatever was making the noise was alive and that it didn’t know he was there. Continuing on as quietly as possible was the most prudent option but his curiosity got the better of him and he went towards the noise.

There were streaks on the floor that he hoped were paint. He crouched down and dipped his middle finger in the liquid. When he brought his finger up to his nose to sniff, he quickly pulled it away.

It was blood.

The beam from his light fell on a figure that was crouched, almost squatting, on top of (what he was pretty sure was) the body of an overweight young man. Christopher remained silent as the creature hovered over the corpse, seemingly oblivious to the light.

As he began to back away, he bumped into a table and the noise got the creature’s attention. It turned its black face to look at him and slow rose to its full height. Its skin was grey and mottled and it had no face. If it had harms, they were trapped beneath a layer of flesh around its upper torso and looked as though they were trying to break free. There was no mouth, but instead a slit on its lower belly that was dripping bits of flesh and blood. He was reminded of a snake when he saw that the belly was swollen from the flesh it had just consumed.

It took a shaky step forward. The heels on its toeless feet came to points and it looked as though it was wearing stilettos and was unadept at walking in them.

He held his ground and hoped that it would shamble away. But when it took another couple of steps, getting a bit more steady, it was clear that it was coming for him. He took the flashlight beam off the creature and looked around for something - anything - he could use as a weapon.

There was a three foot length of steel pipe on the ground that he picked up when he saw that the creature was even closer. With the flashlight in his left hand and the pipe in his right, he wound up to take a swing. Before he could, a watery liquid sprayed out of the opening in the creatures belly. It was a bit warm, didn’t burn, but took him by surprises and caused him to slip to the side.

When Christopher recovered, the creature was turning to him again and he swung the pipe as hard as he could. It connected with the creature’s neck. It sumbled a bit but kept coming. He took a step back and swung again, this time hitting it in the side of the head.

The creature let out a yelp, and he swung a third time, which knocked the creature to the ground. With one more downward swing, the creature was down, though still twitching violently. He brought his foot down on the creatures chest. It gave way fairly easily and it stopped moving, but the force also expelled the blood and flesh the thing had been consuming before it took an interest in him.

Satisfied that the creature wouldn’t try and attack him again, Christopher went back to the corpse it had been feeding on. It was indeed a young man. His face was frozen in terror and his blond hair was caked with blood. Though his torso was completely mangled, his lower body was still intact. Setting the pipe aside, Christopher searched the man’s pockets until he found a black wallet. The name on the West Virginia driver’s license said EDDIE DOMBROWSKI.

“What were you doing here?”

There was nothing in Eddie’s pockets or wallet that gave any indication as to why he was in Silent Hill. In fact, besides the driver’s licence, a AAA card, a debit card, and a few bills, Eddie’s wallet was pretty much empty. There was a revolver lying on the ground not too far away. When Christopher picked it up and checked the cylinders, all he saw were empty shell casings.

If he shot at the creature that had killed him, every one of his bullets missed. “Shit,” Christopher said and tossed the gun aside. He froze as it clattered to the floor but there were no other sounds to indicate that there was another creature nearby.

Taking the pipe, he resumed his way through the building until he found an exit. The air was still stale yet cool and somewhat refreshing. He was back on Wiltse Road and encountered no more roadblocks or detours for a while. There weren’t any more of the creatures around either though the quiet streets seemed a lot more dangerous.

As he passed an apartment building, he heard the faint sounds of shouting. In one of the third floor windows he could just make out two shapes struggling with each other. One of them appeared to be another of the creatures he had seen in the empty stores. The other he couldn’t be sure of though he was pretty sure by the faint shouting it was another person.

Christopher wanted to just keep walking and continue on to the park to look for Rose. Whatever was going on in that apartment would probably get him killed.  


_I’ve done enough running. I’m sorry Rose, but you’ll need to wait a bit longer,_ he thought as he made his way to the building.


	5. ROOM AND BOARD

Murphy waited a few more minutes then went outside himself. The fog was thick and he had no idea which way Angela had gone. He had pretty much the opposite intent of following her. While he had a very strong feeling that she _shouldn't_ be left alone, she clearly wanted to be and he wouldn't push the issue. He wasn't her father and he had enough to worry about.

He continued in the direction he was sure would lead him into town. Even if the town had been abandoned, there had to be some sort of way to contact _someone_ to get help. From what he had read growing up and what some older family friends had told him there had been no massive demolitions done. And since the road through had been open at all, it must be getting safer to pass through again. It would still likely be a long time before people were able to move back again. If at all.

A shape began to emerge from the fog. Murphy slowed down and stopped. He thought at first it was Angela and his greeting died in his throat when he realized it wasn't. It was a woman draped in a blue shawl. She had a blue scarf wrapped around her head and a few strands of her grey hair hung out.

"Hello?" Murphy said.

The woman's gaze settled on him. It was passive yet piercing and Murphy stopped further away than he would have.

"I know the uniform is a bit...look, I was in a crash, and I think I'm the only survivor. Can you help me?"

"No," the woman said. "Only you can help yourself."

Her voice was cool and distant yet had a dreamy quality to it as well. The response would have come across as rude from anyone else. Murphy felt that she wasn't being rude, more stating a simple fact.

"I'm trying to. I'm not supposed to be here."

"You're exactly where you need to be."

"What do you mean?" Murphy took a step toward the woman. Unlike Angela, she held her ground.

"What do you know about this town?" The woman approached him. She didn't seem to notice that he was dressed in a prison jumpsuit. Maybe she didn't care.

"Umm...that it's been a ghost town for a long time. There was a big fire that forced everyone to evacuate."

"Yes. But that's not all of it."

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but who are you?"

"My name is Dahlia."

"Dahlia. I'm Murphy. So, what else do I need to know about this town?"

"Ever since Alessa gave the Darkness a form, people have been coming here to face their demons. Sometimes they succeed. Other times they don't."

"Who's Alessa?"

"She was my demon. My daughter. I was deceived and terrible things happened to her. "

Murphy sighed. He had plenty of demons and none of them had anything to do with an empty town that wasn't so empty after all. It was clear Dahlia wasn't going to be much help but he had to ask her anyway.

"And what is my demon? Where can I find it?"

"Think about how you got here. How you _really_ got here. You will find it. And when you do, you will know how to stop it."

It was hard not roll his eyes at the immediate ridiculousness of the conversation. His father had told him to never just dismiss what someone is saying just because it doesn't make sense at first. Everyone has their reasons for saying things the way they do and not everything will make sense right away.

"Thank you, Dahlia."

"The Darkness will be coming soon. It will be safer to be inside. Sometime after, we will meet again."

With that, she drifted away. Murphy felt his heart begin to pump a bit harder.

_What does she mean by "Darkness?"_

She could have meant that it would be night soon even though everything looked the same as it did when he had woken up several hours ago. He had no idea what time it was, if the time mattered at all. After his talk with Dahlia, he was beginning to feel that it didn't.

He continued walking, looking for a place to shelter. All of the house he passed were locked up tight. Then he came to a building that caused his breath to catch in his throat. Or, it wasn't the building so much as it was the name: WOOD CREEK APARTMENTS.

When he and Carol first started seeing each other they had an apartment there. Well, not _there_ in Silent Hill, but the place had been called Wood Creek. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Without really thinking about it, Murphy walked to the front door which, to his surprise, opened when he tugged at it. The entrance lobby had always reminded him of a hotel with its high ceiling and (extremely cheap looking) faux-wood panelled front desk. The desk had been wholly unnecessary though it added to the charm of the place a bit. The Wood Creek that Murphy remembered had never looked all that great to begin with, but this was just sad: the walls were discolored, the floor was partly torn up and littered with bits of plaster that had come loose from the ceiling and the walls, and the front desk was practically in splinters.

There was no way that the place he was in now was in any way related to the Wood Creek that he and Carol had lived in. That place had been independently owned. He supposed that it could have been owned by the same person who had owned the building he was in now and just rebuilt the business exactly as it was before the evacuation.

It was possible it was all a massive coincidence. Even at his most generous, Murphy wouldn't have believed it was truly a coincidence but he hadn't yet seen anything that hinted at the opposite. Curiosity piqued and Dahlia's warning in the back of his mind, he headed for the stairs. Despite the rundown appearance of the building they were solid.

When he reached the second floor only a few of the hallway lights seemed to be working. Even if it had been completely pitch black Murphy would have been able to find 203.

His old apartment.

His hand hovered over the doorknob. The urge to try to open the door and the urge to just walk away were equally strong. As if compelled by an unseen force, he put his hand down and to his surprise the door opened right away.

Besides the obvious decades of neglect and graffiti, the apartment looked the same - the walls were the same color, the furniture was where it should be. It had been a small place for just one person, but he and Carol had made it work for the two years that they lived there.

When he went into the bedroom, the graffiti on the wall made him feel sick. Amongst the gang tags were words like FAILURE and MURDERER.

_No. There was nothing I could have done._

About a year after they moved into their first (and only) home, Murphy and Carol had a son, Charlie. One day, when Charlie was seven, there had been a miscommunication between his parents and neither one met him when he got off the schoolbus. While he was walking home, the Pendleton's neighbor Patrick Napier saw Charlie and offered him a ride.

Charlie's body, stuffed into a burlap sack, was pulled out of a nearby pond a few days later. The police quickly tied the crime to Napier as well as to several other young boys who had been abducted and later killed. He was arrested and sent to prison.

Several weeks after Napier's trial, Murphy came home to find that Carol had hung herself in the bedroom closet. After burying her, Murphy stole a police cruiser and landed himself in prison. The same prison that Napier was locked up in.

After he had killed Napier, he had done his best to put the whole incident behind him and move forward. Of course, he had been sentenced to five years for stealing the cruiser and evading capture for several hours, and still had quite some time to go before he was released.

He would still have to complete his sentence plus the additional time for the death of another prison guard. There was no solid proof that Murphy had done it, but there was no solid proof that he hadn't done it either.

For a moment he entertained the idea of finding a tall building in town and just letting himself fall. It would be easy enough, no one would find him for a very long time (if ever), and all his troubles would be over. He knew deep down that wasn't him, though.

Wallowing in self-pity wasn't going to get him anywhere, so Murphy rose and decided to poke through the dresser. To his surprise, there were clothes inside that looked like they would fit him. He stripped out of the prison jumpsuit in favor of a pair of blue jeans and a green button-down shirt. When he had dressed, he balled up the jumpsuit and threw it in the closet.

With a final look around the apartment, Murphy stepped back into the hall and closed the door behind him.

"Fuck off!" came a voice from down the hall. Murphy couldn't place the voice until he heard "Fuck off!" again. It was the same prisoner from the bus who had spoken to him that Cunningham had told to shut up right before they crashed. A few moments later, Murphy heard a crash and the man was yelling in Spanish.

He ran in the direction of the noise and found an open apartment. When he ran in, the prisoner was on the ground pummeling something.

"Yeah, take that bitch! Fuck you!"

Murphy saw a pair of legs twitching as the prisoner continued punching and pained yelps coming with each blow. He ran over and hauled the prisoner back and away from whoever he was attacking.

"Hey man, what are you doing? You don't-"

The prisoners words died when the faceless and armless creature he bad been attacking sprung back to its feet and sprayed him with a milky looking substance. This caught him off guard long enough for the creature to throw itself at him and take him to the ground. Murphy watched in horror as the creature ripped the main apart with a mouth on its abdomen.

When it was done, it took notice of Murphy. He wasn't quite sure how it did so without obvious eyes or ears or nose. It didn't matter. The creature got to its feet and took a shaky step forward. There wasn't much distance to close and the creature sprayed Murphy with the same milky substance and then lunged at him. He did his best to fight it off, but it was too strong.

Then its head exploded. The creature yelped loudly and stopped attacking and Murphy pushed it off. A man wearing blue and holding a length of pipe went over to the creature and stomped on the twitching body, causing some of the flesh from the dead prisoner to be squeezed back out of its mouth.

When the man was satisfied that it wouldn't be getting up again, he first looked at the prisoner and then at Murphy.

He extended his hand and said, "Are you alright?"


End file.
